


I'm older now but not done hoping

by twoohugs



Series: Advent Calendar 2019 [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21897979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoohugs/pseuds/twoohugs
Summary: Aziraphale is not easily intimidated, but that flaming hair, all-black outfit (and look at those skinny jeans! Hold on, is that leather?) and the dark sunglasses (despite the always gloomy weather) makes the man look hipster anddangerous.Aziraphale isn’t one of those people with a stick up their arse and a holier-than-thou attitude, but the man had his sense of self-preservation blaring in alarm, and thus he never found the motivation to pay his newest neighbour a visit.a.k.a. Human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley own a bookstore and a plant shop respectively
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Advent Calendar 2019 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556131
Kudos: 71





	1. Aziraphale

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cold December Night by Michael Buble

Aziraphale owns a small bookshop at a street corner in Soho. Well, it is a bookshop in name, at least. A.Z. Fell & Co. is, essentially, more a book collection. A library at most, maybe, if you are one of the lucky ones Aziraphale considers worthy to borrow from his precious collection.

Aziraphale takes a sip of his hot cocoa, looking up from the book he is carefully inspecting. It is much brighter than he expected outside. Proving he’s been sitting there for longer than he thought. When he came in at 7:30 this morning, the sun had not even started rising. 

Movement across the street catches his attention, and he turns just in time to see a leather-clad behind disappear into Devil’s Snare Garden Center, along with a flash of red hair.

Now, Aziraphale is not too keen on socializing, himself. The disapproving reviews on Yelp have a lot to say about that. Aziraphale is not particularly bothered by them, since he does not really care about having customers. Scratch that, he does not want customers. In fact, he frequently finds himself trying to not-so-subtly drive patrons out of his shop, once they start showing desire to continue a stale conversation, or worse, to make a purchase.

But he knows that his indifference in socializing is not the reason he never ventured into Devil’s Snare. If he is being honest, Aziraphale will admit that the name of the Garden Center alone is enough to deter him from going over for a friendly visit. 

Devil’s Snare’s store front looks just as sinister as the name suggests. Aziraphale once visited a museum that has a huge display of a jungle, filled with realistic tree models and realistic life-size animal taxidermy. The place was completely creeped Aziraphale out because it looked like a real jungle, yet it was completely silent. No breeze, no insect noises, no movement in the plantation.

Somehow, he thinks the insides of Devil’s Snare will be just like thatーfull, but feels empty.

Seeing the owner does not help correcting that perception. Aziraphale saw him the day he moved in, curiously looking out his window as the red-haired man gracefully climbs exits his Bentley and strolls into his shop. Aziraphale is not easily intimidated, but that flaming hair, all-black outfit (and look at those skinny jeans! Hold on, is that leather?) and the dark sunglasses (despite the always gloomy weather) makes the man look hipster and _dangerous_. 

Aziraphale isn’t one of those people with a stick up their arse and a holier-than-thou attitude, but the man had his sense of self-preservation blaring in alarm, and thus he never found the motivation to pay his newest neighbour a visit.

A soft chime rings. Aziraphale turns, and smiles warmly as he sees a familiar face.

“Good morning, Newton.” He says, beckoning the young man towards the back of the shop and setting to prepare a cup of tea.

Newton gives him a brief smile. “Good morning, Aziraphale.”

“Anathema is visiting the Devil’s Snare, I suppose?” Aziraphale doesn’t mean to make the name sound so… disapproving, yet the words just seems so _wrong_ on his tongue. Newton obviously shares the sentiment, since he came in here like a lost puppy last week, saying that his fiancée is visiting the flower shop across the street but he is scared of the shopkeeper.

“Yes, she is confirming the centerpiece design today, I think.” Newton says.

“Well,” Azirapahle sets down a cup of tea in front of Newt, “enjoy your tea while waiting.”

“Actually, I…” Newton starts, then seems to change his mind. “Thank you.” Aziraphale is rather fond of this young man. He enjoys tea and hot cocoa, and doesn’t even try to browse around his books, just sits down and talk with Aziraphale. What’s not to like?

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, taking a sip of his own cocoa. _Hmm, it’s gone cold._ Normally Aziraphale would say cocoa of all temperature is tasty, but it’s mid-December, and while he has a functional heater he’d still like to have hot drinks.

“Have you ever went into Devil’s Snare?” Newton asks as Aziraphale stands up to go microwave his cold cocoa.

“I’m afraid not, dear.” Aziraphale sighs. “I have to admit I share your sentiment regarding the establishment, and the owner, even though I have not actually met the man.”

Newton sighs. “Anathema says the ownerーCrowley, he’s calledーis ‘eccentric but not that bad’.” He crooks his fingers as an air bracket. “I know, logically, that I shouldn’t judge a man by his appearance, but he just… creeps me out, you know?”

Aziraphale chooses his next words carefully. “I believe we should not judge anyone by their appearance, especially when we have never interacted with them. However, we do have the choice to not approach them if our… instincts advise otherwise.”

“But the problem is, Aziraphale,” Newton grimaces, “Anathema is asking me to go meet Crowley.”

“Oh. Today?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

“She says I should participate more in the preparation of the wedding, which ‘includes interacting with the people helping us, Newton!’” Newton looks like he’s about to cry.

 _Poor boy,_ Aziraphale thinks, _and I thought_ I _was wary_.

Out loud, he says, “Newton, my boy, would it be less daunting if I accompany you?”

Newton looks at him like he just announced he’d cure world hunger. “Would you? I would be immensely grateful.”

 _Too late to take it back, Aziraphale._ “Well, shall we?” He says instead, standing up and looking forlornly at his cup of cocoa.

“Oh, now? Ok, okay.” Visibly nervous, Newton brushes off his trousers and stands up. “Okay.”

Aziraphale reckons he has never been this protective of somebody since that time he gave away his precious Victorian copy of Mrs Beeton's Book of Household Management to a young couple banished from their home. 

“Well, I’m sure he is a nice person beneath the intimidating exterior. Who knows,” he says, not sure if it’s for his own sake of Newton’s, “maybe we’ll make a new friend today.”

Newton’s answering grunt is more like a whimper.

* * *

Despite his brave words, Aziraphale’s steps still falters when they reach the entrance of Devil’s Snare. Close up, the arched doorway looks the entrance to Pan’s Labyrinth, or something. Thick vines twist around the front of the shop, blocking all views in or out of the display windows, so it’s basically one wall of plantation. Aziraphale absentmindedly wonders if it’s an actual forest inside.

“You know that scene in Barbie’s Swan Lake when Odette goes into the magic forest?” Newton whispers, “This is that, but only if Rothbart took control and made the whole place evil.”

Aziraphale pets Newton on the shoulder. “There, there. I’m sure it isn’t that bad.” He tries, lying straight through his teeth, “Come on.”

Squaring his shoulders, he slowly pushes open the heavy wooden door to the shop. It opens quietly, without the creak he expected. Giving Newton an encouraging glance, he steps forward into Devil’s Snare.

His first impression is that it’s _dark_. And empty. It’s as far from the eerie forest Aziraphale expected as it can get. If A.Z. Fell & Co is more a library than a bookshop, Devil’s Snare is more an art gallery than a plant shop. 

For one, there are few actual plants in the store. By quantity, that is. If one is counting the variation, Aziraphale reckons, Devil’s Snare is probably not unlike other plant shops. But he has never been in one that only puts one specimen of each variety on display. 

The pots of plantsーAziraphale can’t even name them, but they look exoticーare placed neatly in rows on the floor, and on the walls there are simplistic frames, each surrounding a small indent in the wall where a single flower sits on an assortment of vases or stands. It’s _beautiful_. It’s nothing like the museum display Aziraphale had been in, although it is just as silent.

Speaking of silence…

“Newt!” A female voice calls, slicing through the quiet room. Aziraphale’s gaze follows the noise to the front of the room, where a counter sits, camouflaged by its dark color that blends perfectly into the wall behind it.

In front of the counter stands the woman who must be Anathema, and behind it isーAziraphale swallowsーCrowley. If Aziraphale doesn’t know better, he’d say Crowley is looking straight at him; but as it is, there is honestly no way to tell where exactly Crowley is looking, because while the room is dark as nighttime, he is still wearing his sunglasses.

“...fiancé Newton, and you are…?” It is when Anathema turns to speak to him that Aziraphale realizes Newton and him are both still frozen near the door.

“My name is Aziraphale.” He steps forward to shake her hand, determinedly pretending to not notice Crowley’s head following him as he moves, “I own the bookshop across the road.”

“Oh yes, Newt talked a lot about you!” Anathema says, shaking his hand enthusiastically, “Oh, and since you’re from just across the road, I assume you already know Crowley?“

“Erm.” Aziraphale feels himself blushing, “I haven’t had the chance to visit, I’m afraid.” Then, reaching out the shake Crowley’s hand, he adds, “Sorry for not visiting earlier. I am Aziraphale.”

Crowley tilts his head in greeting. “Azziraphale. Pleassssed to meet you.” He half-hiss-half-purrs in a low voice.

Aziraphale feels himself break out in goosebumps, though he doesn’t exactly know _why_. Crowley is not unpleasant, no, and is in fact rather fascinating in a dangerous but elegant way. Like a black panther. Or a snake. Something that you look at and go “wow my dear that’s beautiful” but never dare approach.

Aziraphale suppresses a tremor. “I- uh…” He starts, then clears his throat, “Unfortunately, I cannot leave my shop unattended for too long.” He sneaks a glance at Newton to check that he is safe and sound, half-hiding behind Anathema, “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Crowley, Anathema, but I’m afraid I must go.”

Even behind the sunglasses, Crowley’s gaze is a bit too knowing. “Of course. Ssssee you around, Azziraphale.”

“Goodbye!” Aziraphale’s answer sounds more like a squeak even to his own ears as he gives a nervous smile and leaves.

Coming out from the dark shop, even the cloudy sky looks blindingly bright. Before entering his own shop, Aziraphale turns around to take another look at Devil’s Snare. Somehow, while nothing important happened in his visit, he feels like something in his life has tilted on its axis.

“I need hot chocolate.” He decides, and steps back into his bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The museum I mentioned is inspired by the Hong Kong Museum of History (but I think a lot of natural history museums have similar displays).


	2. Crowley

Crowley is proud to say that he managed to wait two whole days before making his way across the road to A.Z. Fell & Co.

The door opens with a soft chime. Crowley looks around curiously as he lets the door close behind him. He doesn’t know what he expected the shop to be like, but it is exactly what he would expect from the Aziraphale he had met. 

The bookstore is basically filled to the brim with books. He doesn’t mean neat rows of bookshelves like a library, no, more like Erasmus’s library, with towers of books so tall they are basically defying gravity, and smaller stacks all over the place.

“Hello, how can I… Oh!” Crowley snaps his head to the voice and is pleased to see Aziraphale emerging from the back, a string of fairy lights in his hands. “Crowley. I didn’t expect you.”

Crowley tilts his head is greeting. “Good to see you again…” Then, as his gaze go downwards, he raises an eyebrow and finishes: “Angel.”

Aziraphale blushes as he straightens his sweater, a cream-coloured woolen one with the image of an angel at the front.

“Oh, uh… It’s Christmas soon, so I just want to catch up to the festivities.” He smiles, gesturing at his own torso and waving the fairy lights.

“Ah.” Crowley shrugs, “I don’t really celebrate Christmas, myself, but the sweater looks good on you.”

“I see.” Aziraphale just accepts it without so much as a pause. “Then I don’t suppose you will fancy decorating the shop with me?”

Crowley goes from all warm and fuzzy from Aziraphale’s easy acceptance to shocked in a second.

“Me?”

“Well, I was planning to decorate outside the shop this afternoon, and you just happen to visit… But since you don’t celebrate Christmas, it would be quite insensitive to ask, wouldn’t it?”

Aaaand he’s back to warm and fuzzy again.

“Nah, that’s okay. Decorating sounds fun. I’ll help.”

It’s Aziraphale’s turn to look surprised. “Oh. That will be great. I’ll… just go get the rest of the stuff. Do you want some hot cocoa?” He shouts as he retreats to the back.

“That’ll be great!” Crowley calls back, turning the stare at the stacks of books, wondering what the hell just happened. _I just? came to say hi??_

* * *

There is something about Aziraphale that just tilts Crowley out of his equilibrium.

“Crowley, be a dear and fetch me that bag of zip ties, would you?”

Crowley wordlessly hands the bag over, then goes back to adjusting the wreath. That thing just seems unable to stay right at the center of the door, and keeps tilting to one side.

“Crowley, if you don’t mind me asking…” Aziraphale starts, continuing when Crowley turns to look at him, “If you don’t celebrate Christmas, does it mean you celebrate…”

“I don’t celebrate any religious holidays.” Crowley falters. Usually when he says that (not that he has told many people) he either gets a condescending scoff or a pitying sigh. But Aziraphale just hums.

“So do you still attend gatherings or the sort?”

“Not really.” Crowley answers quietly. It is easy to open up to Aziraphale, somehow, even though they barely know each other. “Don’t really have the family or friends for it.”

That gives Aziraphale a pause. He ponders for a moment, then replies hesitantly, “Neither do I. I usually spend Christmas at the clubhouse.”

“A gentlemen’s club?” Crowley raises an eyebrow, giving Aziraphale’s angel sweater a pointed look that he’s sure will translate over his sunglasses. Aziraphale blushes.

“Only in the past. They do offer nice social dancing classes.” He swallows, and, blushing more furiously, continues, “These few years I’ve been at a- a knitting club.”

Aziraphale looks like he’s bracing himself for some teasing, but Crowley finds it the furthest thing from funny. In fact, it’s _adorable_. Not that he’ll say it to Aziraphale’s face.

“That sounds nice.” Is what he says instead, “Do you knit your own sweaters? Wait, did you knit this one yourself?”

“Oh, no.” Aziraphale looks pleasantly surprised. “I’m afraid it’ll take much more time for me to reach this level of skill. No, this is a gift from Tracy from last year’s knitting club.”

“It’s a nice gift,” Crowley offers, “Suits you, angel.” The nickname just slipped out naturally, but Aziraphale just blushes further.

“But, um, I was just going to say…” He seems so flustered that he has forgotten what he was going to say. Crowley waits patiently, leaning against the wall.

“You were saying about spending Christmas at the clubhouse?” He gives a gentle verbal nudge when it becomes apparent Aziraphale is stuck.

“Ah. Oh, right.” Aziraphale huffs out an embarrassed laugh. “I was just wondering, you know, if you would like to come with?”

Crowley blinks. “To the knitting club?”

He regrets his reply as Aziraphale backtracks immediately. “Oh, boy, now that I’ve said it out loud it sounds absolutely ridiculous.” He says, giving another embarrassed laugh.

“No, no, it’s a good suggestion.” Crowley hastens to interrupt, “In fact, I think I would like to come.”

Aziraphale’s brows skyrocket. “You would?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Just one question, though… how high is the requirement for skills? I can barely sew up the holes in my socks.”

 _That_ managed to get a smile back on Aziraphale’s face. “Oh, there is no requirement whatsoever,” he almost gushes, “everyone there is remarkably welcoming and helpful. I was horrible at it the first time I went!”

Crowley smirks at his enthusiasm. “I’ll have to learn from you, then.” Aziraphale grin back happily.

There is a comfortable silence as Aziraphale turns back to hanging the lights and Crowley goes back to adjusting the wreath (seriously this thing is deliberately trying to be crooked).

“So, uh…” Crowley starts after a while, “when do you usually go to the knitting club?”

“In the afternoon. I usually go right after lunch. They serve dinner there, and I usually stay to chat for a while afterwards.” Aziraphale answers, having finished with the lights.

“What do you say we have lunch together before going?” Crowley asks, keeping his eyes on the wreath and feigning nonchalance.

Aziraphale doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Crowley can’t stop himself from turning to see his reaction even if he tries, already expecting the worst, but when he turns Aziraphale is looking rather gleeful.

“What do you think about the Ritz?” Is what he says in the end. Crowley smiles.


End file.
